Where the Lights Mingle
by Kuroneko0489
Summary: Eleanor Hickey is thrust from her world at the Academy of Natural Philosophy after meeting Overseer William Huxley - a man who desires a simple solution for a very serious problem. Together, they search for the truth amidst the lies of the Abbey and the comfort of the Academy, their only weapon marked on the back of the Overseer's hand.


_Story for i-want-a-callisto on Tumblr. This will be in four parts. Hopefully, I'll finish it before the end of the year. Also, not my best writing, but I'm posting it anyway._

* * *

Someone once asked me if I wake up to darkness or to light.

Of course, I said, "Light," but then she asked me how I knew.

"I have eyes. I can see the light."

Then she asked, "Does the Overseer wake up to darkness or to light?"

"Light," I replied.

The woman smiled.

"Exactly, so why do you treat each other as though the other wakes to darkness? Surely, there is something you have missed, something you cannot see - you both awaken to twilight."

* * *

**Part I: Fred is Dead**

**The Month of Nets, 1st day of the First Week**

"Ready?" I say, my hand on the switch.

"Ready!" I hear my partner Harmon yell from the other side of the room.

"Okay," I say. "Steven, lights out." I hear a series of clicks, and the room turns dark.

"Lights out," I hear Steven say.

"Okay," I start. "Harmon, ready?"

"Ready!" He says once more.

"Flip the switch on one. Three... Two... One!" I flip the heavy switch, straining as it fights against me. Then, suddenly the room is bright. My eyes grow wide, and I gape at Harmon, who is across the room. He does the same to me, and for a few seconds it is as if we have made the sun itself rise.

"It - It's work - " I am blind. The room is dark again, and I feel my heart sink, catching a whiff of smoke coming from the machine nearby.

"Dammit!" I hear Harmon say. "I was really thinking that one was going to work." I sigh.

"Okay, turn off the switch Harmon." The switch is much easier to power off. "Steven, lights on." Steven turns on the main power, and the electricity is back. I meet my two partners in the middle of the room.

"Well, at least we got something," I say, attempting to put on a smile. "All we have to do is improve it. Maybe if we charge it longer - "

" - We charged it for a week!" Harmon says, sighing. "Nobody's going to want to charge a huge machine for a month to get a day's worth of electricity!" He throws his hands up. "Maybe we should do something else. Something easier."

"What?" I say. "But we've gotten so far, and this machine could change the entire Empire. We won't have to rely on whale oil anymore for our power."

"Honestly, Eleanor, I don't really care. I'm supposed to graduate in a month, and I'd like to be able to do that. If we keep doing this, we're not going to finish in time." Harmon rubs the top of his head.

"So, that's all you care about? Graduating? What about the whales that are being slaughtered and tortured just so we can turn on lights at the flip of a switch or power our weapons? What about the smog problem in Dunwall? Do your really want to keep breathing that in? The air stinks! And what happens when there are no more whales to hunt? Ships are already having to go out farther and farther to sea to find them. We could change all of this, but all you care about is graduating. You don't deserve to graduate!"

"Eleanor," Steven says. "We've spent nearly three times longer on our project than others have. They've already done multiple projects, while we're still on our first one."

"We are not quitting!" I yell, nearly crying. "We can't now."

"I just _knew _this would turn out badly," said Harmon. "But I just had to get the Morlish girl in my group. Just my luck."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I feel my face grow hot as my lab partner looks at me as though I am trash.

"You shouldn't even be here. This place is for real natural philosophers. Not little girls who want their fanciful dreams to come true." Harmon throws his notebook down. "I'm done." He puts his hands up, backing toward the door. "You want to keep working on this, Eleanor, do it yourself. You're not taking me down with you." He turns, slamming the door behind him after leaving the room.

"Sorry," says Steven. He puts his notes on a nearby table. "I'll leave my notes, too, so you can keep working on this."

"I don't need you all anyway," I mumble, picking Harmon's notebook from the floor. "You were only holding me back. This _will _work. I'll keep working on this as long as it takes."

* * *

The sun sets, taking the sting of conflict with it. The empty lab is almost peaceful, and I find that I actually enjoy working alone. I can think. _Really _think, and I get to know the machine, called "Fred" - Harmon and Steven named it in jest - going through all of its parts, seeing what goes where and what does what.

The wooden floor squeaks and creaks under my feet as I walk back and forth, looking between notebooks, attempting to add everything together. We had it. We just need to make it more efficient.

Fred is supposed to use the power of wind or water to make electricity. Ideally, once I get it started, it would be completely self-sustainable, but Fred is a long way away from that.

"Fred, what do I do with you?" I ask, sitting on a stool in front of it. I put my elbow on the table, resting my chin in my hand and sighing, my brunette hair flapping in the breeze as warm air rushes from Fred's vents. _I am talking to a machine_. I bury my head in my hands, groaning.

I realize that the sun has gone down, and my stomach rumbles. I don't think I brought any food with me. I consider leaving to go back to my apartment, but Fred entices me. I can't leave without figuring out how to improve it. I will go hungry.

I flip through the notebooks again to see if I missed anything, but I am distracted as I detect movement out of the corner of my eye. The swish of robes and a flash of bronze.

"Who's there?" I ask. The face appears again in the doorway, and I jump at the sight of a scowling face peeking from the darkness of the hall. The door creaks open, a robed figure slipping through and stepping across the threshold. "You're not allowed to be in here," I say forcefully. "Get out." The Overseer stands his ground, and I grasp my pen in my hand - my only weapon. "Go away," I tell him, frantic thoughts running through my head.

Is this about Fred? Will they accuse me of being a witch just for working on something they don't understand? I wouldn't be surprised. I've heard that many are taken away - imprisoned and burned as heretics - over simple misunderstandings. A strange smell. A unique talent.

_That woman-she sings so well. Too well. _In my mind, the Overseers grab the singing woman, dragging her offstage in front of her audience, and she cries over and over, "I'm not a witch. Please, I'm not a witch!"

I keep my eyes on the Overseer as he raises his hand, putting it under his mask and then removing the snarling bronze face covering his true one.

He looks to be in his mid to late thirties. Plain face, except for his crooked nose, and honey-colored eyes. He places a gloved hand on his head, raking his fingers through his short, dark brown hair.

"I... " He starts. "I was looking for a student. I need help with something." He keeps his face calm, but there is something in his eyes. Fear?

"I'm a student," I say. "What do you need, Overseer?" Saying the word makes me cringe. The only reason I ever speak of Overseers is to complain about them. A few stand outside the Academy every day, specifically waiting for me, so that when I walk by they can tell me how I am being influenced by the Outsider. How a woman should be doing "women's work". I've gotten used to them and just ignore their cries now, but still I'm not fond of Overseers at all.

"You?" he says. "But you're a... "

The Overseer falls silent, looking down at his feet. He clenches his hand into a fist, finally making eye contact with me and opens his mouth.

"I... " He pauses, taking a deep breath. "Please don't tell anyone about this." I stare at him.

"What is it you want?" I ask, tapping my foot.

"Please promise me you won't say anything," the Overseer says. I cross my arms.

"Fine, I won't say anything. Now, what is it?" What exactly could this Overseer want from me? What would I be able to help him with? He steps forward, putting his mask on a table and nearing me. My guard is up, but I allow him to approach. Soon, we stand no more than a foot away from each other, and the Overseer removes his glove, showing me the back of his hand. I glance at it, looking back at his face.

"You wanted to show me your tattoo? What, do you not like it, so you're looking to see if there's some way to remove it?" My foot taps against the wooden floor, faster now.

"This is no tattoo," says the Overseer. "Do you recognize this symbol?" I look at the tattoo again.

"No, I don't. Listen, I'd like to get back to my work, so please just tell me what you need help with."

"Well," says the Overseer, extending his hand further. "This is the symbol of the Outsider. I have been marked."

I have no idea what he is talking about.

"What should I do about it? Don't you need to talk to another Overseer?" The Overseer's eyes widen.

"No, no. I can't. I'd be branded as a heretic. Please don't tell them!" He panics, clasping his hands together to plead with me.

"Calm down. I said I won't tell anyone." I have never seen an Overseer so desperate before, but I avoid them like river krusts.

"I received this mark in a dream," the Overseer tells me. "And then I was cursed with... certain abilities. I just - I have heard that the students in this place study subjects of all manners. I was hoping that someone would be able to cure me of these powers. I have prayed and prayed, but it does nothing. So, I turn to natural philosophy, now." He looks me in the eye. "Please, please get rid of them."

Does he think I'm stupid? I can feel my face becoming hot and attempt to restrain myself, speaking in staccatos.

"Look, I don't know why you think I'm foolish enough to believe you. Nobody here will take you seriously. We are the smartest people in Dunwall. It would be best if you just left and kept this ridiculousness to yourself. I am not wasting my time speaking to you anymore, so please leave and shut the door behind you." I try to give him my most intimidating face.

"Please! There must be something you can do!" The Overseer tries to take my hands, but I push him away.

"Stay back!" I snap. "Just go. I find it insulting that you're still trying to feed me this bullshit."

"I can show you," he says.

"Go away!" I back away from the man. "If you don't I'll - "

The Overseer disappears. He is _gone. _I scan the room for him. What did he do to me?

_ He must have drugged me when he took my hands,_ I tell myself. To make me see things. Is this the Abbey's plan to get me to leave the Academy? They think that if they convince me that magic and witches and the Outsider are real, I will stop studying natural philosophy and... what? Join the Oracular Order? Get married and have children? They believe that I will just ignore all that I have studied? I shake my head. Tomorrow, I will give those Overseers a piece of my mind.

My heart races, and I sit, looking at the place where an Overseer stood just moments ago, and my eyes travel to a bronze-colored object resting on a nearby table.

The Overseer's mask.

* * *

**The Month of Nets, 1st day of the Second Week**

I set Fred's parts on the ground, making sure they are organized, so that I can easily put them back in again. I examine the machine's insides, poking here, pinching there.

"Maybe if I - No."

I have donned glasses to better see Fred's tiny wires and little metal pieces, twisted here and welded there. Fred's extensions are scattered around the room - unattached at the moment. Right now, it is just Fred and me.

I have improved him a bit, but still he only generates light for a few seconds, and I have been tempted to simply set all of my work aside. Do an easier project. I am tired, but I've gotten so far. If there is a way for Fred to generate light, then I should be able to make the process more efficient.

Of course, more than Fred is in my way at the moment. I've seen Harmon around, and Steven - the "nice" one - will not even look my way when we pass each other. I have Fred, but I find myself wanting more than a pile of wires and metal.

I mean, of course, Fred is more than wires and metal, but I guess I want something more.

I sigh. I'll probably feel better once I've perfected Fred.

My thoughts are interrupted by a commotion in the hallway - a few voices, shuffling feet.

"Out of the way," I hear, and something slams against my inner wall, grunting in pain. The footsteps have slowed, and I jump at a series of loud thumps at the door.

"Eleanor Hickey. In the name of the Abbey of the Everyman, open the door at once."

I am frozen, my heart pounding. I drop my tools to the ground.

"If you do not comply we will be forced to break the door down, and you will be punished."

"C - Coming!" I choke. Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the door, turning the lock and opening it slowly.

"Overseers," I say, attempting to smile. "What brings all of you-" Overseers fill the hallway, and I cannot even see where the group ends. "-All of you to my door?" I struggle to keep my smile looking natural.

"Miss Hickey, you will vacate the room while the Overseers search your apartment. Come with me."

I follow the Overseer, looking back at the group of men filing into the doorway of my apartment. I hear a crash.

"What are they-"

"Please, keep your mouth shut, Miss Hickey, and only speak when you are addressed."

The Overseer leads me into a storage closet where a single chair has been placed on the ground. A lone whale oil lamp burns dimly, casting blue light throughout the room accompanied by the scent of greasy smoke, rising in wisps from its body. The man motions for me to sit, and I tentatively obey, having to crane my neck to look the Overseer in the eye. He flips through a notebook, making a few scribbles before looking back down at me.

I don't like how he stares at me, and I clench my jaw and narrow my eyes. But this is no ordinary man, who I can intimidate with a glare-this is an Overseer. A cultist with power. I could give him my worst glare, and he could drive his sabre right through it.

"I am Overseer Lemler. I'll be asking you a few questions as of now. If my brothers feel that there is need to do a more in-depth, ah, questioning, we will take you to a nearby Abbey facility. Now, Miss Hickey, you are a student at the Academy of Natural Philosophy, yes?"

"Yes," I say, keeping my face blank. I look the Overseer in the eye.

"And you are originally from Morley?"

"Yes."

"Where in Morley?"

"Fraeport."

The Overseer nods, scribbling in his notebook for a while.

_"Foreigners,"_ I hear him mumble under his breath. I dig my nails into my palms, resisting the urge to tap my foot. My mind wanders to Fred. I left all of his parts out on the floor. Surely by now the Overseers had stepped all over them, scattering them everywhere. I push the thought from my mind, ordering myself to stay focused.

"Miss Hickey."

_"Yes," _I reply, more sharply than I mean to speak.

"Do you recall seeing anything strange last week while you were at the Academy?"

"Sorry?" I ask.

"Well, one of our brothers, Overseer Huxley, visited the Academy last week."

I shake my head.

"I've never heard of him," I reply automatically.

The Overseer raises his head a bit. "Really?" he says. "Then how did you come to possess his mask?"

Shit.

"Oh, yes. He came to visit me, about - he just wanted to ask me a question."

"What was the question?" The Overseer's face nears mine.

"It - it was his tattoo. He wanted it removed." I hold my breath. I have no reason to lie for Overseer Huxley. "He just asked me if I knew anyone at the Academy who knows how to do that."

"And?"

"...And I said, 'no', and then he left."

"And that's it? He just _left?_"

"Yes." I nod.

"He forgot his mask, though."

"Yes, he left it on the table. So, I just thought I'd go give it back to him..."

* * *

**The Month of Nets, 2nd day of the First Week**

The bell rings noon at the Office of the High Overseer, its toll synchronized with that of Dunwall's clock tower, and the sun shines overhead, piercing the smog that has accumulated in the air. Holger Square is peaceful, the stocks deserted, and a few Overseers walk to and fro, reciting Strictures and sermons. Their feet clop on the damp cobblestone, forming a steady rhythm along with their words.

I pass the Overseers at Holger Square, making my way to the front of the Office of the High Overseer, where more masked men roam. I can hear two of them whispering together and am reminded of giggling schoolgirls, exchanging secrets in class. However, the bronze scowls soon break any illusions of schoolgirls I entertain. These men are cold and unforgiving. Liars and murderers, spending their lives killing with cult-like devotion. Devotion to whom? To the _people,_ of course. The Everyman.

The Everyman gobbles down every lie, begging for more as the Overseers snicker behind their masks.

Every face is the same here, and as I near the building, the grayness sets in, the sun blocked out by the massive structure of concrete and glass. Modern architecture, they say. It is bleak and depressing.

The lobby is brighter than I imagined it being, the floors and walls made of white marble. An Overseer stands in the middle of the room, speaking to three men.

"Spare the rod and spoil the child-" I hear him say. I draw nearer, clearing my throat, and the Overseer stops, looking over at me. "Please, if you have a question, come join the discussion."

"Oh, oh, no," I say. "I'm looking for someone. An Overseer. His name is - um -" I bite my lip, realizing that I do not know his name. "I have his mask," I say, taking it from my bag. "I figured he'd want it back." The Overseers looks at me, his face unchanging from the familiar scowl.

"Yes," he says. "You will want to go see Overseer Huxley, then." He waves another Overseer toward him. "Overseer Ruby, please escort this woman upstairs so that she can give Overseer Huxley the mask he so carelessly misplaced."

"I can just leave it," I say, noting the man's tone.

"_No_. You will give it to him in person."

* * *

I wait near the top of the stairs as Overseers push past me, never giving me a second glance. The halls are quiet, except for the soft whispers of the religious men, their strictures filling the air.

An Overseer walks toward me, and I step to the side, expecting him to pass, but he stops, staring at me through his mask. More footsteps approach, and a face - a true face - stands out from the rest.

He approaches.

This is not the Overseer from last night. This man walks tall and steadily, his face sharp and stoic. The fear that distorted his features so greatly is gone, as though it never existed. Still, I recognize the nose - the crooked nose. Previously broken in some tussle with a "heretic", I assume.

"Miss, may I help you?" He holds his shoulders back.

A few Overseers walk by, and I see them lower their heads to him - a sign of respect. He looks over them as a master does to his servants, folding his arms behind his back and focusing his amber eyes on mine.

"I was informed that you wanted to see me. Is there something I can help you with? If you are looking for counsel, there are Overseers in the sermon hall who can assist you. I am afraid I'm a bit rusty when it comes to dealing with the public. It is not something I have done since I was younger." He clears his throat, and I look him over one more time before speaking.

"You left this," I say, pulling the mask from my bag. Still Overseer Huxley's face shows no hint of emotion - not even his eyes reveal any hint of recognition at the mask I hold before him. The Overseer nearby leans forward to get a good look at the mask, and I stare him down for a few seconds.

"Why-"

"Thank you," Huxley says, snatching the mask from my hand. He puts it on his face, adjusting it so that the eyes, nose, and mouth line up. He has turned back into just another Overseer, unrecognizable from the others. "If there is nothing else, I will return to my work," he says, in that voice so frequently associated with the Overseer. He glances at the guard nearby. "Good day, miss. And may the spirits guide you on your path. You will hear them best at dusk, where water meets fire."


End file.
